Behind His Eyes
by xxalexisurgodxx
Summary: "Ya'd be surprised, but sometimes the hunter and the outlaw think a lot alike. With the real careful ones, that's the only way ta catch 'em." USUK. Western AU.


******* **I have deleted Behind His Eyes and am now re-uploading it somewhat differently. Besides the better editing, less typos, and more fluidity, I've decided to make the chapters a bit longer to encompass a large scene instead of small parts. I will be switching points of view, seeing as I love the posts from both Alfred's and Arthur's points of view in this roleplay, but not to worry, for it will still flow like a story.

This roleplay was done by me and a friend I had a while ago. I do not talk with her anymore, for we've drifted apart, but I still want to share this brilliant story with the fandom. She roleplayed as Arthur, and I as Alfred. Her tumblr url has changed since I last messaged her, and I have no idea how to reach her without giving away her very personal information, so I shall say that her tumblr name used to be artietwerkland, and if that rings any bells, then great. If not, sorry. But I am crediting her, this story is not exclusively my work.

**Note: I know that Inglés Ladrón is technically incorrect Spanish, but I'd rather leave the name the way my partner made it up, for a few reasons. If you have a problem with this, my apologies, but know that I'm aware it is wrong.**

I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia, nor do I own the song lyrics by Bob Seger I have placed above each chapter.

* * *

_"On a long and lonesome highway, east of Omaha_

_you can listen to the engine moanin' out its one-note song."_

**_Chapter 1_**

The east coast of the United States was busy, to say the least. Mirroring its rapid growth as a nation, now that the 1890's were well underway, the east coast, particularly New York City, was brimming with commerce and people. People from the North, the South, and many, many Europeans. In fact, there were so many people in the city, that some had to leave- not that they were doing it against their will- most of them were excited to embark on an adventure westward. But going by themselves would only result in their untimely deaths, lost in the wilderness, starving, sick, killed by a hungry animal- the list went on. They needed somebody to guide them, somebody who was familiar with the West already, someone who would know which routes were safe and which were certain death.

That was why Arthur Kirkland was sweating his ass off riding through the disgusting streets of New York. Not that London was any cleaner, but he could complain if he wanted to. He needed to get to the west too, all the way out there, preferably California. There were thriving cities out there, full of opportunity and new places and, most importantly, money. Speaking of money, his head was swimming with flashes of a late night escapade, the night before's to be exact. Arthur shook his head. It was a wonder Inglés Ladrón hadn't ever been caught yet.

_"Maybe he's just that skillful when absconding..."_

Arthur had heard that there was a group of fellow Europeans in town heading out west as well, and were allegedly meeting each other at a local saloon erected in the center of the nearby square. He knew he was close- he could just smell the alcohol. Well, not really, but he liked to think that he did, full of English pride. It was a little-known fact that Arthur was a bit of a lightweight, and he liked to keep it that way. It wasn't something he even liked to admit to himself. Not that it stopped him from drinking, ever. Although something told him it wouldn't be wise to be getting drunk just before departing on a three thousand-mile journey on horseback.

"In the middle of the bleeding summer. Won't that be swell," Arthur harked, glaring down at his steed's ears. Well, it wasn't even his, it was Inglés Ladrón's. Arthur swore the horse knew that fact as well, because it had been giving him a hard time all morning. And it was happening again.

"Not again, you great ugly brute. Stop!" he cried as the horse tossed its head wildly, letting out a shrill noise. Arthur yanked on the reins but it proved ineffective as he had only served to anger the animal further. It began kicking and jumping, creating a thin dust cloud around them, and the Englishman feared for his life.

The only thing to do was hold on tight, Arthur decided, and grabbed the horse's mane, squeezing his legs around as firmly as he could, praying that the animal would calm down on its own. "Calm down, I say!"

But it wasn't going to any time soon, or so it seemed. Arthur felt his legs slipping. His eyes scrunched closed tightly, bracing himself for the hard fall that was sure to come, breaking who knew how many bones and... and getting dirt all over his clothing! He would not have that. But, alas, Arthur's right hand could not hold on much longer, and he felt himself bounce up out of the saddle. Arthur's teeth clenched together, ready for the impact with the ground, the sensation of air rushing out of his body.

But neither came. A few moments of no pain had Arthur peeking open one eye, looking around cautiously before opening the other one, gazing down at the horse, still perched atop its back, dumbstruck. It was snorting contently, standing still and subdued as if it had not been upset just a second before.

Arthur found himself smirking proudly at the animal, straightening his shirt. It thought it could throw him off its back and make him look like an imbecile; wrong. He slid off its back triumphantly. "What's the matter- tired yourself out? Poor thing. Maybe next time you'll-"

The horse never did find out what it might do next time. Arthur was cut off upon slamming into something on the way down. "Ugh, what the-?" he grumbled as he rubbed his arm, glaring up at whatever he'd hit.

Oh.

_Who_ever he'd hit. There stood a man, probably an inch or two over six feet tall, with a hand on his horse's nose and an infuriating grin on his face. Arthur was surprised, to say the least, but he was quickly becoming angry. Twat. "Watch where you're standing," he snapped after recovering, and, turning on his heel, he strode away angrily, up to the saloon he'd spotted just then. He hadn't needed any help! He could have calmed the horse by himself, he definitely could have. Not that he had much experience with horses, but he didn't need help from some stranger.

"'Scuse me, sir, I couldn't help but notice that ya forgot your horse." Speaking of strangers. Arthur whipped around, glare at the ready, glancing from the man to his horse and back to the man. He was grinning again, the prick, but no matter how Arthur looked, he couldn't find anything malicious in it, just amusement in those dazzling blue eyes- they were the exact color of the sky. How did they get like that? Golden blonde hair grew in thick locks, sun-bleached at the very top from what Arthur guessed was days and days out in the harsh rays of summer sun, though it looked anything but unhealthy. It was cropped at the nape of his neck with bangs framing his face, which might have appeared a younger if not for the glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. Those glasses, they seemed a touch out of place, what with the rest of the man's rough appearance. Somehow, though, they worked. All in all his face was kind, but despite the young look on the outside, his eyes told a deeper story. About what, however, Arthur could not begin to imagine.

"Hn." He didn't want to anyway. He hadn't the decency to respond to the man, who he'd started to think of as a cowboy, now that he taken in the rest of his appearance. The cowboy was clad in a worn white shirt (whereas at one time it was probably crisp and neat-looking, now it just looked thin and well-used), unbuttoned a few notches to let the air cool his body, an equally-worn pair of denim pants and drab-colored boots, probably suede or leather, had Arthur cared to even take notice of the material. He wore a hat too, and it was black- hard to miss, if Arthur did say so himself. The hat was probably what drove him to think of the word "cowboy". These types didn't exist in Europe.

_"Probably because everyone there has at least the decency to get dressed in the morning... tch."_

Not that he couldn't look decent if he tried. His broad shoulders and strong back were obvious even under the shirt he wore. His sleeves sat rolled up to his elbows, revealing firm forearms and suggesting sculpted biceps hidden underneath the cloth. His neck was thick and his waist trim; all this was probably the result of years of heavy work outdoors. And if the golden tan that seemed to reach every part of his body didn't suggest that, nothing did. It was only when Arthur finally noticed that he'd been staring did he snatch his horse's bridal from the cowboy's hand, turning away. But the sudden movement spooked the beast and sent it into a frenzy once more. Arthur let out a yelp (that definitely hadn't been as high-pitched as he heard it in his head, no way) and jumped back from it, only to have his back meet something firm and warm.

"You seem to enjoy bumpin' into me- ya gonna be alright there?" The cowboy's voice sounded from above and Arthur actually had to tilt his head up to meet his eyes at their current proximity.

Arthur swallowed the lump in his throat, willing the flush in his cheeks to go down as he picked himself up off the other with as much dignity as possible. "As if I would enjoy bumping into a manure-scented oaf like you..." And there went the rest of that dignity. Arthur glared up at the other before shooting one of the same fury at his horse. The horse, however, only clucked at him, nudging his arm.

Sticks and stones, apparently. The other didn't seemed phased by Arthur's words. "I think he's tryin' to apologize..." the cowboy chimed in as he watched the exchange between Arthur and the animal.

Apologize? Could animals even do that? Arthur stared at the cowboy for a brief moment. No, probably not apologizing. Either way, even if it was trying to apologize, it wasn't going about it the right way at all. "Getting dust on my clothing doesn't seem very much like an apology, if you ask me." He brushed off his shoulder, which now had a speck of dust on it. "If he really wanted to apologize, then he could have gotten me a cup of Earl Gray. But I doubt any animal could do that," he muttered with a small pout.

The cowboy only cocked an eyebrow at him. "He's just bein' friendly. And if you're plannin' on comin' out west, ya best not be afraid of a lil' dust," he said with a slightly amused tone. Amused, always amused. Ugh.

Arthur scoffed at the other's words. Why would he be intimidated by dust? "Poppycock. I'm not afraid of a little dust. I'd rather it not ruin my clothes, is all." Inglés Ladrón probably didn't mind getting a little dirty, in fact, he was sure of it, but Arthur liked to keep clean.

The sun beat strongly down on their shoulders, but it was nothing compared the vast open plains of the west. Alfred cocked an eyebrow at the Briton once more. "Typical Englishman, so literal... take it easy, princess, your clothes'll be fine." The man flashed a set of very white teeth in a wide grin and pat Arthur's horse.

Infuriating didn't even begin to describe this man. "Where d'you get off calling me "princess"?" Arthur grumbled, practically seething. Everything seemed to be working against him today.

"Yeah, yeah." The cowboy rolled his eyes. The nerve. "What's your name, anyway? I'm called a lot of things, but my name's Alfred." Alfred held out his hand for the Briton to shake.

_"I wouldn't doubt that you are." _Arthur could only let out an uneasy chuckle as he accepted the large, sweaty, and probably dirty hand. His fingers were unexpectedly rough against Arthur's. "Charmed..." he muttered, offering the other a nod. He pinched Alfred's thumb and, after shaking it once or twice, pulled away, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping his fingers off. "My name is Arthur. Arthur Kirkland."

Alfred rolled his eyes, a good-natured smile gracing his lips. "Well, Arthur, it's nice ta meet ya. Try not to get thrown off, eh?" he added with a small smirk. "It ain't fun, take it from me."

_"Why you little-" _This guy was annoying, very much so, but Arthur had been about to walk away from this like a mature adult- had it not been for some of the hushed chuckles from the rest of the group in front of the saloon. Furious, Arthur ignored the cowboy's words and glared at the other immigrants before clumsily climbing back up onto his horse. "Shove it. We're leaving now! Mount your horses," he snapped, and the group grumbled but complied anyway because behind Arthur stood Alfred, gesturing dismissively for them to obey. It was then that Arthur must have crossed the line.

He peered down at Alfred and gave a sly smirk. "You too, cowboy."

Alfred didn't respond. When all was silent amongst the group, however, and Arthur had looked away, Alfred reached over and wrapped an arm around his leg.

"What the-"

The next thing Arthur knew was dirt up his nose and the slamming of his back against the ground. "Nngh... aahhhh..." Searing pain zapped up his back and left him lying there for a moment, hands trembling where they lay, stunned, but more surprised than actually scared or in pain. But Arthur hadn't been afforded the time to pick himself up completely, for when he got to his knees there was a husky voice at his ear.

"I call the shots, Mr. High And Mighty." It was Alfred, suddenly the opposite of the sunny disposition he'd been displaying up until this point. Arthur was stunned. There was nothing he could say as the cowboy expertly mounted his own spade-black horse and began leading the expedition away from the saloon- but not before throwing Arthur a smug look over his shoulder, as if to say, "Comin'?"

_'Arthur... are you gonna let him get away with that?' _A voice crackled to life inside his head. _'He shouldn't be allowed the privilege. Put him in his place... you know you can.' _Arthur drew ragged breaths, still rubbing the arm that took most of the fall. He stood with his gaze at ground as the group made their way out of the square. How dare he? How dare that insolent wretch?

It took less than a minute for the Briton to come out of his still stupor. Arthur kicked at the ground and let out a frustrated shout before piling back onto his horse. He glared down at it. "You'll do as I say, do you hear me, you filthy animal?" With a twitch of its ear, the brown stallion kicked up its hind legs, tilting Arthur until he was on the ground, again, face down in the dust. He groaned, but Arthur was far from defeated. His fingers curled in the dirt as he heaved, willing the air back into his lungs, having had the wind knocked out of him. Once breathing again the Englishman picked himself up, spitting dust out of his mouth while fixing Alfred's back with a venomous glare. "You'll see.." he snarled, and, ignoring the chuckling ringing in his ears, grabbed the horse by the reins and proceeded to walk it over to the already moving group, lagging behind a little. Arthur licked his cracked lips. Alfred had no idea that he'd all but signed a death warrant. And Arthur wasn't about to warn him, he didn't believe in mercy.

_'Don't ignore me, Arthur, I'm asking you-'_

"Oh, don't worry, Ladrón, I won't be letting this go..." This was exactly why Arthur liked having 'him' around. Not physically around. But he was there. Inglés Ladrón, that was what he called himself, he was everything villainous one could possibly imagine. Inglés Ladrón was power, was strength, was victory, was everything and anything someone like Arthur could want. He was confidence, protection, a fall-back- his trump card. Get on his bad side and there was nothing he wouldn't do to dispose of you. And while, on most days, Arthur would rather him not murder (not that he ever took that into consideration), the Briton thought he could make an exception in this case. Not only was he unopposed to the prospect of this insufferable cowboy dead, he actually wanted it. Or was it Inglés Ladrón wanting it? Who wanted it?

Did it even matter? It was pretty cut and dry. Nobody wanted to be on the receiving end of Inglés Ladrón's fury. On any other day, Arthur just might have pitied the cowboy, but today was clearly not that day. Alfred had no idea what he'd sparked, not one inkling as to what he'd started, that he'd just resigned himself to a hideous fate.

* * *

It would be a hot, sticky day; Alfred could tell from his experience on the east coast. Nothing he couldn't handle- there were hotter days out west, although it _was _dryer out there. All it really meant was that he had to make sure to stay hydrated while consuming the water in his canteen smartly. Drink too much too quickly and there would be none for the next day, the day after that, and so on until they reached another city. He hoped the immigrants were aware of this as well.

Alfred purposely slowed the group so the Englishman could catch up and turned in the saddle to address the rest of the group. "How many of you plan on going all the way ta California?" Planning an approximate route out in his head was a good plan, and he had all night to think one up while lying under the stars.

All but two of the people raised a hand. "Where are you two headed, then?" He promptly received an answer of Denver, Colorado and San Antonio, Texas. "Well, San Antonio's a bit outta the way, but if ev'ryone don't mind taking a bit of a detour, we can do it." A "detour" was a slight understatement, because San Antonio was nestled in the more southern sector of Texas, but Alfred didn't mind spending an extra few days or so traveling. It wasn't like he wasn't used to it.

He cast a glance around at all of them when no one made an objection. Although Arthur, now that he'd caught up, seemed a bit perturbed... eh. Not like that was surprising. Arthur seemed like the type to be annoyed by anything and everything. "So ev'ryone's okay with that? Good." The American nodded at all of them and turned around in the gaudy western saddle, nudging his horse with the spurred-heels of his boots to urge it into a somewhat quicker pace. "C'mon now, Zephyr..." The horses behind the cowboy followed suit, their group evening out into the same gait after a while.

Alfred adjusted the ink-colored hat covering his head and glanced over his shoulder. Blue eyes met a familiar pout and a smirk crept faintly onto his face; he had a feeling Arthur would be lagging behind, though whether out of wariness, spite, or plain lack of efficiency on a horse, he couldn't be too sure. Chuckling quietly to himself, Alfred muttered to one of the immigrants riding just behind him to keep going in their general direction and waited for a nod of understanding before giving a whistle , prompting Zephyr into a quicker gait. He turned out the to the side of the procession and quickly aligned his horse with Arthur's, all the way at the back. He nudged Zephyr dangerously close to Arthur's horse, and ironically, the other horse seemed to calm somewhat now that he was here- must be the cowboy inside."Howdy there, whatchya doin' all by yer lonesome?" he asked playfully, his horse matching the other's pace. His eyes flickered calculatingly.

To Alfred's amusement, Arthur visibly tensed as he drew near. Hah. His lips pulled back in an imposing grin. "Well?" Arthur twitched. Man, was this guy uptight. "D'ya like sulking, or somethin'?"

He watched as the man rolled his eyes. "I'm not sulking, first off," Arthur snapped, glaring ahead of them. "I just don't think there's any need to rush if we're all taking a detour anyway. Tch." He sniffed. "I'd rather take my time with this whole charade."

Alfred grinned. "Is that so?"

"Yes it is so."

The cowboy adjusted his hat against the sun to keep it out of his eyes before looking back at Arthur. He looked a bit uncomfortable, and definitely peeved, but he'd get over it. A bead of sweat, he noticed, was rolling down the Englishman's neck and, if he really looked, dust speckled his face and bangs. Alfred reached behind him into one of the two saddle-packs and pulled out a deep red handkerchief, reaching over and holding it out to Arthur. "You're all dusty, my friend- and I know it's hot."

Alfred chuckled gently as he watched the Englishman argue with himself over whether to accept the handkerchief, as if it were an ancient relic with some unknown power. In the end, however, it was pulled from his hand. Arthur brushed his face off and loosed a sigh as he dabbed the sweat from his neck and (impressive) brow before holding it back out. "Ah..." Arthur began, and withdrew the cloth. "I dunno if you want this back now..."

"Nah, keep it."

Arthur blinked before tucking the handkerchief in one of his own saddle bags. He shifted slightly in the narrow English saddle strapped around his horse. Alfred couldn't help but be thankful for the wide saddle he used on a regular basis. First of all, those things couldn't be comfortable. There was just no way. Secondly, they were hardly practical. Besides creating a stiff muscles once finished, the rider couldn't turn as easily for the lack of support it provided. It had to be harder on the horse too, or, at least, in Alfred's (expert) opinion. The western style of riding horses was much more relaxed and utilitarian. One used a single hand to guide the horse instead of both and was able to utilize the other for ropes, whips, guns, or anything else one might use while riding. It was especially useful for cattle ranchers, who were rampant in the Great Plains these days. Alfred had run into plenty of them in the past few years.

Arthur's voice tore him from his thoughts. A question. Why was Alfred going west? Oh, an easy one.

The cowboy leaned forward with his elbow perched on the saddle horn, gazing lazily over at the other. "Why am I goin' west? I live there, Arthur. Can't ya hear it when I talk? I don't think I sound like everyone else in New York."

Arthur seemed to ponder this for a moment. "I suppose."

"I do travel a lot, though... maybe it ain't as different as I think."

"Yes, well." Arthur gazed at him inquisitively. It was slightly disconcerting. "If that's the case, why were you in New York? If you don't mind my asking, that is."

For some reason, Alfred couldn't shake the chill that had just crawled its way up his neck. Why? What were all these questions for? His shoulders tensed. _"Why was I in New York?"_

Alfred was silent for a few minutes, the monotonous thudding of hooves on earth drowned out by his thoughts. Telling Arthur couldn't hurt, could it? "I may just look like a regular ol' cowboy ta you, but there's more to that..." he said, voice lowering.

"If you don't want to reveal your reasoning, it's-"

"I'm a hunter, Arthur... d'you know what I hunt?" Alfred watched Arthur's eyes widen at first, but the Briton gained control of his expression a second later, and it returned to guarded, almost unreadable.

"Oh? A hunter, hm? How... active." Arthur loosed a plastic chuckle. "I've drawn a blank, chap. What do you hunt?" It was obvious that he was unimpressed. But otherwise, he was silent, almost expectant.

Alfred tore his gaze from the horizon and met burning viridian eyes, so utterly striking that Alfred was rendered breathless for just an instant. "Criminals. I hunt criminals; people on the wrong side of the law..." The American's expression was uncharacteristically sober, and his eyes flickered. Another mild breeze caught their clothing. "I'm a bounty hunter. And so far... no outlaw's escaped my justice."**  
**  
The Briton didn't seem to have much of an outward reaction to what he'd revealed, but Alfred had been on the job long enough to know that some people had unnerving control of their body language and composure. Alfred himself was able to keep an uncanny stoic appearance when faced with criminals and prisoners and all sorts of riff raff like that, and most of the time whizzing bullets didn't outwardly phase him either. All were things he dealt with too often to affect him so severely. But this Arthur guy was something.

With the absence of a response, Alfred continued on. "I wasn't in New York to escort these immigrants to California... someone in particular drew me there this time around." The fingers of his right hand fiddled absently with the reins. Suddenly the air was much thicker, despite the saturation from warm waters of the vast Atlantic. "It probably ain't his real name- but I heard from a reliable source that an outlaw who goes by Inglés Ladrón had moved east and wound up in New York." Alfred remembered the day he'd found out about the guy. Just thinking about the thrill of the chase set his blood on fire. "I'd been contemplatin' goin' after him while he was in the west, and I figured I'd follow him to New York. Plus..." He grinned faintly. "I was a bit bored."

Alfred eyes were ablaze. "He intrigues me. I don't know what it is... something tells me he won't be easy to corner, but I don't give up easily." There was something lurking in their cerulean depths, something strong and vibrant. They reflected the intense afternoon sun, shining almost grey out from under his lashes, his inky hat unable to block their luster.

Ah, finally, a response. The Englishman coughed to clear his throat. "Intrigues you, eh?" he offered, cocking an impressive eyebrow at the cowboy. A response, but a small one, at that.

"Yeah, he sure does."

"I've only heard about Inglés Ladrón around the square in the short time I was here. He seems quite ruthless. Insane, in a way." He narrowed his eyes, tone aloof.

Alfred smiled, though it was different, a smile he didn't smile often. "It's just... something about the way he operates. It's like he's waitin' for someone to try an' dare ta find him."

"Oh?" Arthur absorbed this with pensive eyes, visibly effected by Alfred's spoken thoughts, as if it had struck something the cowboy couldn't decipher. "Isn't it a bit dangerous to go after him?" He shrugged his shoulders and arched his back in a slight stretch. He was silent for a minute then, glaring strangely at the horizon before turning those fierce green eyes back at Alfred. "I mean, from what I've heard... his capabilities seem boundless. But, as a bounty hunter, you probably know more than me." He grimaced at the quick words. "As much as I hate to admit it."

Arthur's musings brought a laugh from the hunter's chest. "Dangerous? Well, maybe, but ain't anyone who goes around killin' people dangerous? Hn... I ain't scared. Not one bit." Alfred adjusted his hat against the sun.

The Briton chuckled. "Well, of course they would be dangerous. But, obviously, he has yet to be caught. I don't really know how long he's been out there, but it has to have been a while, hm? You're pretty brave for wanting to search for an unsearchable criminal. I heard that his face has never been seen." Arthur paused for a moment."And, going by the Wanted posters stuck around the square, I'd say those rumors are true- for the lack of sketches."

"Hm." The cowboy pondered this for a moment. Then he shot the other an amused glance. "It's true that he's been elusive for a while, but callin' himself _Inglés _Ladrón? He's revealed ta me one important bit already- he's English. Not such a great name he picked, izzit?" Alfred winked. He fixed Arthur with his fiery blue gaze, lips pulling up in a sudden playful grin. "Also, that was the most I've ever heard you say in one breath," he teased.

Arthur scoffed and shook his head. "I doubt that," he said quite quickly, then blinked. He shot a panicked glance at Alfred, as if he'd said something he shouldn't have. Alfred cocked a golden eyebrow at the Briton. That answer hadn't made any sense.

"I mean... I-I doubt that he would be _that_ obvious. It seems a bit suspicious to me. Having someone's nationality in their name. Inglés could stand for their favorite country... a pet name... what have you. England is quite a prosperous country, after all. I think I should know." Arthur frowned then, looking somewhat flustered, but the expression morphed into a glare before he could say anything else. "I say, if it bothers you so damn much, I'll just keep silent."

Alfred ignored Arthur's indignant response, as he could already tell that the man was a lot of talk and no action. What a shame. He sure was an interesting character. Still, the hunter was having a grand time discussing the killer with him, so Alfred was inclined to continue that part of their conversation. He had a very vague, unlikely point. "That may be possible... but I'd rather go on somethin' that I _do_ know, than somethin' I don't. And I'd probably name myself Ladrón Americano, if I was in that situation- ya'd be surprised, but sometimes the hunter and the outlaw think a lot alike. With the real careful ones, that's the only way ta catch 'em." Alfred shrugged, peering up ahead at the front of the group, as if to check up on them. When satisfied, he sat back in the saddle again and looked over at Arthur, who responded with a dull, "Hm, I see."

There was a span of slightly awkward and uncertain silence, as if both parties were unsure of what to say around the other when their conversation stores ran as dry as the plains air they were sure to encounter. It had been such a mentally stimulating conversation.

Some birds flew overhead, cawing softly as if calling down to the procession. Another minute passed by and Alfred could no longer help himself, breaking the silence cheekily. "Ya know, people with a guilty conscience tend ta talk a hell of a lot..." Alfred teased, just to see Arthur's reaction, because he really had been talking more than he did about an hour ago back in the city. "Ah, but don't go all silent on me now, heh," he chuckled heartily.

"That's rich." Arthur cut in as Alfred laughed, automatically on the defensive after the other's joke. He rolled his eyes. "Preposterous. My conscience is very clean, thank you. You talk an awful bloody lot, too, cowboy." He smirked snidely and wiped at his mouth. "Are you sure you don't have a filthy conscience?" His smirk dropped, but stretched up again in a second or two. "Even heroes have secrets."

A hero, huh? Not a word he heard often. But he'd take it. The bounty hunter smiled amusedly, but it quickly melted away as Arthur pushed his horse into a faster gait with a few stubborn kicks with his bony heels. The horse sped off forward before Alfred could say anything. "Hey, I ain't finished with you yet- where ya runnin' off to?" Much to what was most likely the Briton's dismay, he nudged his own horse into a faster gait to catch up to Arthur, who could be heard grumbling under his breath. "I won't say I'm perfect. But enough about me- what's yer deal? Why are you goin' out west?" He told Arthur his reasons, and he expected the same in return. Life wasn't completely fair all the time, Alfred knew that, but it was at least common courtesy.

Arthur answered calmly, "I like to travel. I keep a journal on whatever I find interesting. And since I've been everywhere in the UK and France, I figure I'd come to the States next." Seemed simple enough. Alfred was a bit surprised by the lack of a "wanting a new life" saga, but he wasn't complaining. Good for the Briton if he'd never really had to struggle much.

They rode into the sun, as they were west-bound, but the shining giant didn't deter them, and by nightfall they were just about crossing the New York-Pennsylvania border. They'd only taken a few breaks to water the horses and to eat a little something. In a few more minutes, Alfred decided they'd set up camp under some trees to provide a bit of cool shade in the tents. Evening was falling upon the group as they slowed and surveyed the area for an acceptable camp ground. They'd only meandered another mile along before stumbling across the perfect place, semi-guarded by trees but not too isolated. They wouldn't always be this lucky, Alfred noted, but it was smart to pick preferable spots when they could.

Night fell shortly after, having crept up on the bounty hunter without him noticing the darkening of the sky, too busy pitching his tent. Alfred listened to the sounds of the group pitching their own tents and talking quietly amongst friends or family they'd come with. _'Another journey...'_ He gazed pensively up at the evening sky, still a purplish-pink from the sunset. The summer brought prolonged daylight. Although dim, the sun was still there, allowing them all a bit of light to work with before the moon would pick up where it left off. Alfred licked his lips and shifted his position against the tree he sat against- there wouldn't be many of them once they started entering the Plains. Trees, that is. As the guide, Alfred figured he'd wait for everyone to settle in for the night before he did, and yawned at the thought.

"I'm going to wash up," Arthur's voice called, and he turned his head just in time to see the Englishman heading to the nearby creek he'd spotted. "Priss..." he murmured to himself, but couldn't help but grin amusedly. Actually, the man was pretty fun to tease, and even though he was a critical bastard, he seemed alright. _"Hm... Arthur's English... nah, it couldn't be..." _Inglés Ladrón was indeed on his way west again, that much Alfred knew, but the thief probably didn't need anyone to escort him there... He shook the preposterous notion from his mind.

Alfred sighed, tearing his gaze from Arthur and slipping his hat from his head for the first time that day. "Who are you, Inglés...?"


End file.
